


"How long do you think he's been dead?"

by captainworsley



Series: getting you under my skin [1]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Light Angst, Limbo, M/M, Wintertime, death as a metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 04:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16318955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainworsley/pseuds/captainworsley
Summary: after the events of season 4 episode 7, "the late captain pierce", bj tries to comfort hawkeye.





	"How long do you think he's been dead?"

Hawkeye walked into the Swamp, threw his coat off, and flopped down on the cot with a heavy sigh that BJ could hear even with his blankets drawn up tightly around his ears. He'd been half asleep but had been trying--desperately--to wait up for Hawk without leaving his blanket cocoon.

"Did you get your dad?" BJ asked. Frank was doing a late night round in post-op, so he knew they'd be alone for a little bit.

"Yeah, I got him," Hawkeye said. "For couple minutes. Then the call dropped again. But he knows I'm okay."

BJ sat up in his cot. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Hawkeye didn't say anything, not even to deflect.

"Hawk?" BJ didn't remember getting up; he just could quite suddenly and clearly feel Hawkeye's hands in his. He was kneeling on the cold, hard dirt next to Hawk's bed, holding Hawkeye's hands, while Hawk was curled on his side.

He hadn't been wearing gloves and his hands were raw from the cold and the day's surgical scrubbing. BJ rubbed them between his own, feeling the texture of Hawk underneath the slightly softer skin of his own fingertips. He felt the calluses in between his fingers from constantly holding instruments and scrubbing there with a rough sponge; he felt the hairs on the back of his hand and the delicate arches of his knuckles, and the softest spot right in the center of Hawk's palm. His hands, of course, were freezing.

BJ rubbed his own warm hands over Hawkeye's quickly and felt them warm and soften.

"How long do you think he's been dead? Is he cold yet?" Hawk asked, and met BJ's eyes.

"Not long," BJ answered, and drew himself closer. He lifted one hand tentatively to touch Hawk's face, but hesitated.

"Beej," Hawk said, low, but BJ could hear that his voice had cracked.

"I think we might actually be able to save him," BJ said. He traced his fingertips along the skin behind Hawkeye's ear, felt the softness of his hair at the back of his neck. Hawk hadn't stopped him from touching him; in fact, he put one of his hands up to press his palm into BJ's. BJ leaned in and kissed Hawk's forehead. Hawk exhaled, and his next breath in caught in his chest. BJ could feel him tense slightly underneath him.

Hawk pulled back the blankets and BJ crawled into the cot next to him. It creaked under their combined weight tremendously. But BJ adjusted himself into Hawk's arms, and Hawk kissed his forehead back. It felt so gentle, and yet BJ could feel himself trembling, could feel Hawk trembling next to him, or maybe it just seemed that way because of his heart pounding.

"You're right, Beej. I think he's going to make it. It'll be like it never happened." Hawk bowed his head into BJ's chest; BJ could feel his warm cheek against his sternum, and patterns of his breathing began to correspond to BJ's own as they began to melt into each other's warmth. BJ kissed Hawk's forehead again, pressed his nose into Hawk's hair; he could smell the soot from the camp's stoves that lingered there, the castile soap Hawk showered with, and the acrid smell of the OR, like old blood and burned plastic and hot glass and. . .

BJ woke up colder than he had ever been in his entire life. Hawk had pulled the blankets off of him and managed to throw them onto the floor in his sleep. BJ tried to lean over and grab them but managed to tip the cot from its precarious equilibrium and pitch them both into the dirt.

Hawk yelped and drew the blankets around himself, rolling himself into a little ball right on the cold ground. "What the hell, BJ? There was no need to get physical with me."

BJ righted the cot, and looked down at the round shape in the blanket at his feet. Hawkeye. He could hear Frank snoring gently at the other end of the tent.

"You'll freeze down there, you know," BJ said.

"No I won't. You won't let me."

Hawkeye was right--though maybe not quite how he intended to be. BJ reached into the blanket and hauled Hawkeye up by his arms, shoving him a little hard back onto his cot.

"Honey, come to bed," Hawkeye pleaded softly, in what BJ knew was his "kidding but not really kidding" voice. He wanted to get back in next to him, but he wasn't quite sure what that meant. There was a pale light outside, the beginnings of dawn, and BJ was pretty sure he could hear the whole camp breathing along with the rise and fall of his own chest. He scratched the scruff on his face; his whole body felt itchy from the cold, dry air. Your own sweat could freeze against your skin in weather like this.

BJ watched Hawkeye's eyes close, and got back in his own cot instead. It felt miles, oceans away.

**Author's Note:**

> this was the first episode of M*A*S*H that really struck me as a profound, character-driven story and also really got me invested in the nature of this ship. trying to do a series of short fics (some more serious like this and others maybe funnier???) about their relationship developing over the course of their time together.


End file.
